The Sorry Struggle
by PartiPooper
Summary: When Cartman does something bad to Kyle, he tries to say sorry - "tries" being the keyword. AKA, How Not To Say Sorry To Your Boyfriend. (Slightly Silly Kyman One-Shot; Rated T for profanities, slightly sexual scenes, and the follies and flatulence of youth.)


It was a tale as old as time in the little mountain town of South Park, but Kyle was mad at Cartman. _Really_ mad. So mad, in fact, that he had broken up with him. In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't very funny to fart in your boyfriend's mouth when he was giving you a rim-job…

Okay, no, yeah, it was _totally_ funny. Cartman _still_ found it funny – _still_ laughed at the memory of Kyle gagging and hacking, running his tongue under the bathroom tap for five minutes and gargling several cups of water afterwards. The problem was that Kyle didn't find it funny. He never had, and it didn't seem like he ever would. And so, funny as it was, Cartman realised that maybe he had crossed a line with Kyle, which was disorientating because he actually hadn't done that in a long, _long_ time. He had been a good boyfriend to Kyle. He bitched about him little, loved him lots, and gave good head on the side. But maybe he had grown too cocky in the boyfriend role – had begun to feel that he was invincible, that he could do anything and that Kyle would just take it because they were dating, which wasn't the case at all.

If Kyle was anything, it was prideful. He wasn't one to sit down and take his boyfriend farting in his mouth lightly. Kyle was also known for holding grudges, _especially_ against Cartman, so, really, he shouldn't have expected anything less than getting broken up with. Hell, he should have expected _more_. Really, he was actually sort of fortunate that Kyle hadn't torn his smelly asshole off, shoved it in his fat mouth, and told him to rim himself from then on. Yes, luckily all that had happened was that he had been broken up with. But still, that was bad enough. Contrary to popular belief, Cartman wanted to be with Kyle; but, as it was, the feeling wasn't mutual. Kyle was too mad for it to be mutual, and Cartman didn't know what to do about that. He could wind Kyle up easily enough – it was a talent of his, really – but winding him down again was whole new territory. Still, Cartman was prepared to brave it. If only he knew how…

Well, for starters, an apology was in order. Cartman had never really apologised in his life before, so he wasn't one-hundred-percent sure on how to go about doing it. But how hard could it really be?

* * *

It was the evening after the fart-in-mouth incident, and Cartman was sat on his bed, tossing his phone from hand to hand, weighing up whether he should call Kyle. He had a hunch that trying to make amends with your boyfriend was something that you did face-to-face, but he feared for his life too much to do that. He had joked in the past that Kyle was his little monster, but the funny thing was that, when angry, he really _was_ a little monster. He hadn't the guts to face Kyle in person when he was like that, so no way was he going to. Therefore, it was going to have to be by phone if at all, so he stopped lightly juggling it so that he could search through his list of favourite contacts for Kyle's name. He chewed his lip nervously as he held the phone up to his ear and heard it buzzing, praying that Kyle wasn't so mad that he wouldn't pick up. Although, when the call _was_ picked up, Cartman sort of wished that it hadn't been.

"I don't want to talk to you," Kyle said darkly.

"I know," Cartman sighed. "Listen, I know you're mad about last night and all. But I couldn't help it, Kyle. It's just, I hadn't farted in a while, and we'd eaten Taco Bell earlier, and that always makes me sorta gassy, so…"

"I don't want your excuses, Cartman!" Kyle yelled.

Cartman pulled the phone away from his ear to give it some relief, and took a moment to glower at it before he returned it to his ear to demand to know, "Well, shit, what _do_ you want?!"

"Figure it out, asshole!"

Cartman flinched at the volume of Kyle's voice, wincing and pulling the phone away from his ear again. When he put it back, there was no noise from the other end. He had been hung up on. So much for that approach. He groaned as he threw his phone aside and flopped backwards onto his bed.

Okay, so maybe apologising would be harder than he thought. He was still going to do it though, somehow. He decided to give Kyle a couple of days to cool down before he tried anything again though, which would also give him time to think up a better strategy.

* * *

A couple of days after the unsuccessful phone call, Cartman turned up on Kyle's front door step. He was finally brave enough to confront Kyle in person, and it helped that he was going to look nice whilst doing it. His hair was combed neatly, he was wearing a blue argyle sweater-vest atop a clean shirt with a pressed collar, and he smelt of the cologne that he knew Kyle loved. He was holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates in one hand, and a big bouquet of roses in the other, both of which felt like sacrificial offerings to an angry god.

Feeling as though he was about to walk into a hungry lion's den, or dive into a bloody-thirsty shark's tank, or do any other dangerous stunt which actually sounded much nicer and easier and generally more preferable than appealing to Kyle, Cartman inhaled a deep, steadying breath and slowly let it out again in a lengthy exhale before ringing the doorbell. As it dinged and donged, he got down on one knee and made sure to put on his most irresistibly adorable of faces, and when the door opened he smiled his most innocent of smiles up at Kyle, who stood stunned in the doorway, barefoot in his green plaid pyjama pants and Muse t-shirt. He gaped, dumb-founded at the appearance of Cartman. But then his face fell into a frown.

"That's not it, Cartman."

Cartman's smile dropped. "What's not it?"

"All _this_!" Kyle gestured to Cartman's overall appearance. "I mean, what am I to you? A two-cent whore?"

"N-o," Cartman said slowly, raising a brow. "Actually, this stuff cost, like, _ten dollars_ at Walmart."

Kyle groaned and massaged his forehead. "Cartman, do you really think I'm _that_ easy? That you can just _buy_ me? Is that what you think?"

Cartman had no answer. He just blinked blankly up at Kyle, not quite sure what to say, what Kyle _wanted_ him to say. The redhead growled at his response – or lack thereof – in displeasure.

"Well think again, asshole!" Before Cartman could reply, Kyle slammed the door shut in his face. Cartman's shoulders slumped and the roses fell limp in his hand as he stared in disbelief at the door, unable to understand how that hadn't worked. His hope rose, when Kyle opened the door once more, but it fell back down quickly when he only added, "And I'm diabetic, dumbass!" before slamming the door shut again.

Well, that hadn't worked. Two days' planning and ten dollars, down the drain. Cartman slowly stood up from the front porch and shuffled sadly away, back to his house and the drawing board.

* * *

Two days after the unsuccessful house visit, Cartman was laid in wait on Kyle's bed, posing naked on his side like one of Jack's French girls. Scattered across the covers were rose petals – the ones from the Walmart bouquet – and he had a bottle of bubbly in a bucket of ice at the bottom of the bed, and sensual sax music playing softly from Kyle's iPod dock. The whole thing was a sight that no one could say no to – not even an upset Kyle. Or so Cartman thought. Except that when Kyle finally did enter his bedroom and flip on the light, he jumped backwards with a scream and shielded his arms in front of his face.

"Hey, Baby." Cartman waggled his eyebrows and gave Kyle a sultry once-over. "How about we make up with some sweet, sweet love?"

"What?! _No_! Oh, my God, Cartman, what are you _doing_?! Are those _rose petals_?! Oh, my God, all over my bed! Can you come into my room _without_ making a mess for once?!"

"Relax," Cartman chuckled. "Just come to daddy. Everything's gonna be okay." Kyle gaped in horror as Cartman licked his fat forefinger and swirled the tip of it across his nipple, biting his lip as he did. "Yeah," he whispered seductively. "You like that?"

Kyle looked far from seduced and more so mortified. "Oh, my God. Did you just call yourself _daddy_?" He sighed, placing a hand on his hip as he lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. No, you know what? Fuck this. Fucking get out, Cartman! Out!" Without warning, Kyle lunged for his hockey stick resting near the doorway and stormed across to his bed, to thrust it at Cartman, jabbing him in the ribs.

"Ow, what the fuck?!" Cartman cried, wrapping his arms defensively around himself. He rolled off of the bed, ducking under the swings of the stick, and fell to the floor with a loud thud. He quickly recovered though, scrambling to his feet to dodge yet another jab as Kyle gave chase.

"What do you mean _what the fuck_?! _I_ should be the one saying that! Seriously, Cartman, I don't know how you got in here, but you're leaving through the window! Go on, out! Out!" Luckily, the way Cartman had gotten in _was_ through the window, so when Kyle kept prodding him towards it with the hockey stick, there was a ladder for him to get onto.

"Can I at least get my clothes?" Cartman whined as he began to descend the ladder. Kyle replied by jabbing him in the face with the curved end of the stick. Cartman could take a hint. He scurried down completely naked without further complaint.

So there he was, stood cold and nude as the day he was born, out in his ex-boyfriend's backyard. It couldn't have gone any more wrong. He pouted up at Kyle in the window, who had been gathering Cartman's clothes off of the floor whilst he had been climbing down, and who unceremoniously threw said clothes out of said window, where they fell in a crumpled heap onto the grass below.

"I was trying to be sexy!" Cartman yelled up at him.

"I don't want you to be sexy!" Kyle yelled back. "I want you to be sorry!"

He slammed his window shut and stormed away from it, leaving Cartman to sigh tiredly as he went about doing the shameful retrieval of his clothes. At least it was night time, so nobody would be able to see him. Just as he thought that though, he heard a snap behind him and saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. He spun round, looking like a deer in the headlights, to see Ike standing in the back doorway, holding a camera. The devilish little thirteen-year-old was grinning widely, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Well, well, well," he said, taking it all in gleefully. "Looks like there's a full moon out tonight."

Cartman regarded Ike with a world-weary expression. "Evening, Little Jew. I don't suppose I could barter with you to get you to delete that photograph?"

"Twenty dollars," Ike said smoothly.

"Mhmm," Cartman replied, nodding slowly in consideration. "And just where were you going to post it, pray tell?"

Ike raised his hand with fingers up and splayed, but began curling them down as he listed off sites. "Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, Reddit…Y'know, all the places it'd go viral."

"I see…" Cartman thought for a minute about the pros and cons of paying up, whilst Ike whistled and surveyed his nails idly, a confident smirk playing about his features. Cartman hated caving to the whims of a child, especially a Canadian child, but he knew that he would prefer to be poor for a short section of his adolescence than humiliated for his whole life. He sighed as he gave in. "Ten dollars, did you say?"

Ike shook his head. "Twenty."

"…Fifteen?" Cartman tried hopefully.

"Twenty," Ike insisted.

"…Fine."

Okay, so that was _thirty_ dollars down the drain and _still_ no reconciled relationship to show for it. But Cartman wasn't going to give up yet, for his middle name wasn't Quitter…although he sort of wished that it was, because at least that was better than Theodore.

* * *

The following night, Cartman returned to Kyle's backyard, to throw stones at his window, urging him to open it, which he did after the twelfth stone, although he sounded less than happy to see Cartman as he barked down, "What?!"

A serenade – that was what. A good ol' love song sang to a midnight window always worked in the movies. Hoping that it would work in reality too, Cartman took a deep breath and started to sing.

"_Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you! Never gonna make you cry! Never gonna say goodbye! Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!_"

"Stop harassing me or I'm going to get a restraining order!" Kyle bellowed, before slamming his window shut and closing his curtains. So apparently, and unfortunately for Cartman, stuff from the movies _didn't_ work in reality. He growled at his failure, and directed his anger at a patch of grass in Kyle's yard, kicking it like it had done wrong by him, uprooting it and sending it flying a few feet away.

"Y'know, it could've been worse!" he yelled up at Kyle's window. "I could've been drinking apple juice before you rimmed me! That makes my farts super bad! At least it was just a Taco Bell fart!"

The window did not open again, neither did the curtains so much as twitch. Kyle wasn't going to respond anymore that night, so Cartman shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, kicked a stray stone across the grass, and stormed off out of the backyard, grumbling miserably and cursing Kyle under his breath all the way home.

* * *

School was probably the best place to talk. Kyle couldn't just shut Cartman out with a window or a door, so he had to listen when he was asked at his locker a couple of days after his midnight serenade, "Have you forgiven me yet?" Cartman quickly realised that he hadn't when Kyle slammed his locker shut in response, and shot him a look that would give Medusa a run for her money.

"Do you have no sense of remorse?" he snarled. "No guilt? No shame?"

Truthfully, Cartman did. It had been growing within him like a gross fungus, dampening his insides. All he did was shrug sheepishly though, knowing that he wouldn't be believed if he claimed as such, and Kyle rolled his eyes as he turned and started to walk off. Cartman pushed himself away from the lockers and followed after him.

"How about if I take you out to Denny's?" he asked, falling into step beside Kyle.

"No," Kyle replied as he quickened his pace, causing Cartman to drop behind.

"I'll buy," Cartman added, persistently upping his pace to a trot.

"No," Kyle repeated, taking longer strides. Cartman accepted that he wasn't going to get to negotiate next to Kyle, so allowed the redhead to walk ahead a little whilst he shot suggestions from behind.

"Fine, we can go someplace fancier. How about Café Monet?"

"No."

"Shit. Well, we don't have many places to eat around here, so I'm kinda running out of options…Whistlin' Willy's?"

Kyle groaned and came to a stop, spinning round to show Cartman the depth of his frown. "No, no, _no_! I don't want to go _anywhere_ with the disgusting asshole who farted in my fucking mouth and doesn't even feel bad about it!"

Cartman frowned down at his feet. "I _do_ feel bad."

"For you!" Kyle retorted. "You feel bad _for you_! It was all a big laugh until I broke up with you, and now it's suddenly not so funny anymore! You didn't care how _I_ felt! You _still_ don't! And until you do, I'm not doing _jack-shit_ with you!"

That time when Kyle walked off, Cartman didn't follow. He kept his eyes on his feet, unmoving even when the bell for class rang. He was beginning to wonder whether he hadn't been that great of a boyfriend after all.

* * *

Later in the day, Cartman was in a class with Stan – Kyle's _"super best friend"_ as they liked to call each other, and Cartman's new ticket back into his boyfriend's good books. Therefore, a few minutes into the class, he took that opportunity to write a note to Stan.

_sup brah. will you talk to kyle for me? he won't talk to me._

He threw it to Stan's desk next to his under the teacher's radar, and watched discreetly as he read it. Stan looked across at him afterwards with an exhausted expression. Cartman blinked innocently back at him, so Stan sighed and picked up his pen to write an answer below Cartman's message. Cartman was waiting on Stan's note, so he managed to catch it when it was thrown to him, and wasted no time in opening it eagerly.

_no._

Seriously? That was it? Cartman shot Stan an annoyed look, and was even more annoyed to find that Stan wasn't even paying attention to him anymore, instead looking boredly ahead at the board. Not for long though, as Cartman wrote another message, balled up the paper, and threw it at Stan's head. When it hit him, it was Stan's turn to shoot Cartman an annoyed look. After a moment though, he sighed, reluctantly picked it up from where it had fallen on his desk, and read it.

_c'mon be a bro! bros look out for bros!_

Once again, Stan sighed, before hunkering down to write back again. He took longer to respond than last time, so Cartman hoped that he had managed to get through to him. But when Stan threw the note back and he opened it up, it wasn't what he had been expecting.

_you're right cartman. bros _do_ look out for bros.  
kyle is _my_ bro so i'll look out for _him_. not you._

Cartman slumped forward on his desk in defeat. Okay, so maybe Stan _wasn't_ his ticket. Well whatever, the joke was on Stan, because guess who wasn't invited to Cartman's next birthday party anymore.

* * *

A couple of days later, Cartman was nervous, which was unnatural. All he was going to do was get up and sing in front of the assembly, and that was nothing new – he had sung in front of a crowd many a time before. Yet, despite that, he was shaking slightly and his palms were sweaty, so that it was hard to hold onto the neck of his acoustic guitar. He was actually nervous, and maybe it was because what he was about to do was actually important.

When the teacher announced that he was next up, and forced a welcoming round of applause from the unenthusiastic student-body, Cartman's nerves only intensified. He was walking on stage before he even realised it, moving on auto-pilot, and as he journeyed to the stool set up for him in the centre, he looked around the room, searching for the most important face in it – the one which would always be _the_ most important face in any and all rooms he ever went into. Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately, it all depended on how it went down – Kyle had a front-row seat. The look on his face told Cartman that he already knew what he was up to, and his crossed arms told him that he was none too impressed. Cartman hoped the slow bob of his Adam's Apple was none too obvious as he reached the stool.

"Uh, hey," he began as he settled onto it and rested the acoustic on his jutted knee. He experimentally strummed its strings, and was glad to hear that they were still in tune. At least _one_ thing was going right. "So, this one goes out a special someone I've pissed off. You know who you are." The whole school probably did too, actually, since he was looking right at Kyle as he said it, and anyone who _hadn't_ noticed that Cartman and Kyle hadn't been exactly simpatico for a while would have had to have been blind, deaf, and of a below-average IQ.

All was silent, apart from a lone cough in the far end of the room which seemed to shine a light on the atmosphere's awkwardness and cause Cartman to feel feverishly hot. He cleared his throat, getting the acoustic comfy in his hold, and as soon as it was, he started up strumming the opening to _Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word_ by Elton John.

He put his all into the song, trying his hardest to make it sound the best he could, his face creased up with remorse and concentration. He hoped that Kyle would be able to see how hard he was trying. But when he looked straight at Kyle as he sang, _"What do I do to make you want me, What have I got to do to be heard, What do I say when it's all over, And sorry seems to be the hardest word,"_ the redhead didn't seem swayed in his opinion of Cartman. He prayed that that would change as the song went on, but even as he strummed the last notes, Kyle still looked none too pleased. In fact, as soon as the whole thing was over, and whilst everyone else was obligingly applauding, Kyle slowly got up, gave one last world-weary look to Cartman, and then turned and walked away without a word, leaving through the double-doors at the back of the hall, leaving Cartman agape on the stage. His disbelief quickly turned to anger though, and he shot up from the stool with a scowl on his face, abruptly silencing the applause which had been going on.

"It was just one fart!" he yelled to the doors Kyle had left through, which made much murmuring break out betwixt the watching students, but sadly Kyle did not return. "God damn it," Cartman muttered, clenching his hands into fists at his sides as he glared down at his feet. "What do you want?" With a furious snarl, he ripped the guitar strap from his shoulders, and slammed the instrument to the ground, making the people closest to the stage flinch and gasp, and recoil when he glowered at the door once more as he bellowed, "God damn it, what do you want?!"

Kyle did not return to answer, and Cartman did not wait much longer for him to. He turned and walked off, kicking the guitar on his way to hide behind the stage curtains.

* * *

Cartman sat on the floor backstage with his back against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. His face was buried in his folded arms, and he was fighting the tears that stung his eyes. He heard footsteps approaching, but he did not look up, not even when their owner stopped directly in front of him and started to speak.

"Oh, Romeo. Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"

"Fuck off, Poor-boy," Cartman said, but there was no bite to it – just dejection. His voice was gravelly from the lump choking his throat.

He heard Kenny sigh despairingly, followed by the sounds of him settling down next to him on the floor. For a minute or so, Kenny just sat there with him, not saying anything. Cartman didn't know whether he wanted him to or not. He just knew that he wanted to stop _feeling_ so much. Atop his ninety-nine problems, all of which were Kyle-centric, Cartman could take the weight of the silence no longer, so he finally spoke.

"He's never going to take me back, is he?"

There was long pause, before he heard another sigh from Kenny, and felt a hand on his back. "I don't know. Kyle's good at grudges. And you _did_ fuck up."

"I always fuck up," Cartman admitted meekly. "Just when I think I'm doing okay, it turns out that, nope, I've fucked up again." He sighed as he raised his head to peek over his folded forearms, glaring straight ahead with bloodshot eyes. "Loving someone sucks. It's bad enough when you're disappointed in yourself, or the whole world is, but it hurts worse when _they're_ disappointed in you."

"I know," Kenny said, rubbing his back.

Cartman groaned, burying his head back into his arms. "I really, really don't wanna lose him, Ken. I've lost a lot of shit before and I've been fine. But him? I don't know if I'll be okay."

"Kyle will come around, dude. He always has. You've done worse shit to him before, and he's always come back, so there must be _something_ hidden within all that grossness he likes about you."

That much was true, but still. "I don't know what to do, Kenny."

"I'm not helping you."

Cartman barked a dry laugh. "Some best friend _you_ are."

"Yes, actually. I'm a _great_ best friend. That's why I'm not helping you."

Cartman raised his head from his arms, to look across at Kenny, furrowing his brow at him. Kenny smiled in return, continuing to rub his back.

"You need to make amends with Kyle on your own. You have to act on your own decisions, and not what others tell you to do. Otherwise, Kyle would just be going back to what everyone _wants_ you to be instead of who you actually _are_. If the decisions you make don't get Kyle back, then maybe you two were never meant to be. If they do, then you'll feel all the better, knowing it was all you."

Okay, so Cartman had to admit that there was some sense in that, somewhere. Still, he sighed and frowned, turning his head to face away from Kenny as he grumbled, "Even though you don't wear that dumb parka anymore, you _still_ don't make a damned lick of sense."

Kenny laughed, clapping him on the back. "I know, dude. I know."

Cartman still wasn't feeling much better, but a small smile crept onto his face all the same, because maybe his best friend _was_ a great one after all. Now if only _he_ could be a great _boy_friend. Perhaps he still could be. Lame as it was, he still had one last trick up his sleeve – one last chance to make things right. His gaze turned steely and serious, and he clenched his hands into fists as he found his resolve, and the determination to follow through with it.

"Your singing was little off, by the way," Kenny ruined the moment by remarking out of nowhere. He was quickly shut up by a swift elbow-jab in the arm, courtesy of Cartman.

"No one fuckin' asked you, Pauper."

* * *

It was late at night when Cartman was stood out in Kyle's backyard, looking up at his bedroom window like it was the last time that he would ever see it. Maybe it was, because, honestly, Cartman was all out of options. He had tried everything that he could think of to get Kyle back, and he only had one last-ditch attempt left. He wasn't sure whether it would work, but he knew that he had to try. He was too in love to do otherwise.

Sighing, he lugged the ladder off of his shoulder, rested it against the house, and, when sure that it was sturdy, he began to climb, trying to work out how to word his plea as he ascended. Upon reaching the window, he still didn't have much of a clue, so he let out a weary, here-goes-nothing sigh before knocking thrice. He waited with a glum, hopeless expression on his face until the curtains were drawn by Kyle, who was looking thoroughly annoyed and made a show of crossing his arms and pouting. Cartman was too deadened to react – he just pointed to the window latch with a pleading look. Kyle's expression eased, and he looked to deliberate for a moment, before he sighed, his annoyance seeming to seep slightly, and unlatched the window.

"What is it now, Cartman?" he asked after he had lifted it up. "Are you going to sing _Wonderwall_ to me? Or are you going to invite me to a romantic get-away to Paris? Or maybe you're going to read me poetry? Don't waste your time, because none of that's going to work."

"I know it's not."

Kyle blinked, obviously thrown for a loop. "Wait, wha-? Really?"

Cartman nodded, then sighed. It was time for his last stand.

"Listen, I admit it. I was wrong. I shouldn't have farted in your mouth. I should've made you stop and pull away, but I didn't. I thought it'd be okay, but I was wrong. It wasn't. I see that now. I get it. It wasn't fair to you. That was a betrayal of your trust in me, and it hurt you, and I am really, truly, _genuinely_ sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Hell, why would I _want_ to? I mean, I fucking _love_ you. So, if you can find it in yourself to please, please, _please_ give me another chance, then I promise I won't do it again. Because you're pretty much the best thing in my life right now, and I'd give up a thousand rim-jobs for you."

So that was it. It was pathetic, Cartman thought, but saying that lame stuff was all that he had left. He very much doubted that it would work, and was expecting to get turned away for the last time at any moment, so it would have been an understatement to say that he was surprised when Kyle leant forward out of the window, cupped Cartman's cheeks in his hands, and kissed him full on the mouth. He was so surprised that he couldn't kiss back – that he almost fell backwards off of the ladder altogether – but the kiss was a chaste thing anyway, and before he knew it Kyle was pulling away, _smiling_ at him in a way he hadn't for so fucking long – _too_ fucking long – and it was far too beautiful. Fuck, how had he gone on even one single day without it?

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear from you all along," Kyle laughed mirthfully as he pushed forward again to rub their noses together. "Yes, I _will_ give you another chance. Apology accepted."

Jesus tap-dancing Christ. Cartman couldn't remember how to breathe. He couldn't believe that, fuck, _that_ was all it took? Or maybe he was underestimating that whole thing. After all, he still found it _incredibly_ hard to ever admit that he was wrong about anything in any way, shape, or form, so the fact that he had managed to do just that was a feat in and of itself. Not only that, but he had apologised, and not with anyone else's words borrowed from some song or other. He had said sorry in his _own_ words, from the bottom of _his_ heart, and that was what Kyle had wanted – for _him_ to be sorry, to say sorry, and to mean it.

"I'm an idiot," Cartman sighed as soon as he had had his little revelation. Kyle only laughed again – that fucking great sound that Cartman could listen to forever on a mix-tape where every single track was Kyle's laugh.

"Yes, you are," he agreed, pressing their foreheads together and continuing to nuzzle his nose. "But you're _my_ idiot."

Cartman pulled a face, put-out by an uncharacteristically sappy Kyle. Maybe their break-up had fucked him up a little as well. "Wow, _that_ was cheesy."

Kyle pulled back to scoff. "Oh, and all the shit you pulled _wasn't_?"

"…Touché," Cartman said, because yeah, that was fair enough.

"Now get in here," Kyle laughed, grabbing Cartman by the shoulders and hauling him through the window. He all but fell into Kyle's room, landing on the carpet on his hands and knees, only being stopped from planting his face on the floor by Kyle holding his upper-body up, but he was laughing all the while. He couldn't remember when he had last been so happy. Fuck, he could have been that happy a lot sooner, had he just owned up and said sorry sooner. Well, he wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Next time, there would be no beating around the bush, no hiding, no making excuses, no bribery, and no enlisting others' help. Next time, he would man the fuck up and do what Kyle deserved.

Almost immediately after Cartman had gotten to his feet, as though he had been yearning to for a long time, Kyle rolled his weight from the flats of his feet to his toes, slid his arms around Cartman's neck, and shut his eyes as he leant up to kiss him with smiling lips. It did not take long at all for Cartman to kiss back, closing his eyes as he closed the gap between them, pulling Kyle into him by a hand at his shoulders and the small of his back. They mouthed hungrily at each other as though they were starved, their kisses growing more desperate and their breaths more feverish the longer it lasted.

"I love you," Cartman gasped in between urgent, wet kisses. "I love you. I really, seriously love you."

"You can stop now," Kyle chuckled. "I've forgiven you already."

Even so, Cartman did not stop. After they inevitably fell onto Kyle's bed together and rid each other of their clothes, during the whole time they made love, he told Kyle over and over again, relentlessly and repeatedly, in as many ways as he could think of. He whispered the words into his skin and kissed them into his mouth. And, during the whole thing, he didn't fart – not once.

All that time without Kyle had been awful, and Cartman didn't want to go through it ever again. But from it all, he had learnt a valuable lesson.

Saying sorry is hard. Not saying it is even harder.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Ugh, I can't believe I haven't posted anything in so long, but I've been wallowing in a writing slump for about a month. I've only just come out of it recently, so I decided to finish this fic off before I descended into yet another dreaded slump.  
This exists because I wanted to write a fic where Cartman learns the importance of apologising, because I love seeing Cartman learning to be a better person (or at least just less of a complete asshole dickwad), but I couldn't think what he would have to say sorry _for_. After a while, I decided that, hey, this is _South Park_, and I should just be silly about it, thus this whole fart-in-mouth situation. I pray that it doesn't give you dark _Ginger Cow_ flashbacks. I and my friend MissMaryMason laughed about it, so I hope that you can too. I mean, if you got grossed out by this, then how in the hell are you okay with watching _any_ of _South Park_? Haha!  
Well, anyway, this turned out angstier than I thought it would, in that I didn't think that it was going to have any angst in it at all. It was just meant to be a silly fic making light of Cartman's (many) failures and short-comings, but then things got serious. I guess it wasn't so much _angst_ though - more so just Cartman being a butthurt bitch. As per usual.  
Thank you for reading this, and I hope you liked doing so as much as I liked writing it!**

**Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.**


End file.
